Deal with Death
by The Lady Fair
Summary: Hermione Granger has wanted to go beyond the Veil ever since she first saw it in her Fifth Year. When she finally gets the chance, she searches out none other than Death himself and cuts a deal for the souls of those taken too soon. Who knew Death could be so... personable? Harry/Ginny, EWE, multi-chapter. Mild humor. Some drama.
1. Chapter 1

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 **Chapter 1**

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Convincing Harry had been the easiest and hardest part of going through the veil. Hermione used both his love of Sirius and his guilt over the man's death to get his blessing for her trip. She'd needed his blessing, as they both knew that there was every possibility that it would be a one-way trip.

Just like Sirius.

Just like the other four Unspeakables who had dared try pass through the veil in the past twenty-eight years.

Hermione left Harry, Minister Shacklebolt and a very despondent looking Unspeakable at the door to the room where the veil was kept. A room she'd been in only once before but had been mysteriously drawn to ever since. She didn't dare look back at them, knowing that if she did she might not have the willpower to go through with it. To risk her life for the chance to save others.

On paper her mission was simple. Pass through the veil and attempt to return to the land of the living. It was the same mission as the last four Unspeakables who'd been assigned to the Veil. Everybody and their mother believed it was a fool's mission.

But in Hermione's heart there was a much more serious mission at hand. She intended to pass through Death's door and take back everyone who had been wrongly taken from them. No one knew. She'd hid her personal interests so well that even the Minister didn't know what she intended. For his part, Harry only suspected that she was going to try to reach Sirius. He hadn't spoken his desires aloud, but Hermione knew. Her best friend just wanted his godfather back.

And she was going to do it.

Facing the veil, Hermione ignored the whispers that seemed to be just on the other side of it. They were no more real in this world than her magic would be in the next. She peeled off her ministry robes, folding them and setting them to the left of the steps up to the veil. She relinquished her wand next, not daring to hesitate as the familiar wood left her fingers and called to her from its spot atop the robes. Wearing a bright yellow muggle sweatshirt and jeans, Hermione mounted the steps.

The veil seemed bigger than ever now that she actually intended to go through it. Thin, shredded fabric stirring in a non-existent breeze. As if calling to her, the voices from the other side hummed louder, gaining intensity. But she ignored it all.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, rolled the sharp-edged Resurrection stone between her fingers and took a deep breath. Five other witches and wizards had passed through the veil. Hermione Granger would be the sixth, but she did not intend to stay there as they had.

Taking one last breath while she was alive, Hermione Granger released it and stepped through the veil.

For all the arithmantic equations she'd compiled. For all the dark artifacts and tomes she'd studied. For all the hours she had spent preparing herself to enter the veil. Hermione had never once thought about what it would actually be like to pass from the land of the living to the land of the dead.

It was excruciatingly wonderful. Whispers of fabric around her body drew her into Death's warm embrace. A sweetness she had never known settled in her heart and the darkness of this new plane of existence soothed not only her body but her mind and soul as well. There was nothing there but peace and calm and perfection. Hermione forgot to breathe, forgot to think, and allowed herself to just feel. She melted into death as though it were an old friend, falling forward to let the darkness cushion and soothe and keep her forever.

Before she fully succumbed, the Resurrection Stone bit into the flesh of her hand. It was freezing cold, the rush Hermione needed to remember her mission, to remember her reason for coming into this wonderful, dangerous place. Moreover, as the cold burned her hand, Hermione recalled all her reasons for returning.

"No!"


	2. Chapter 2

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 **Chapter 2**

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"Harry, are you alright?"

"Hmmm." Harry responded to the sound of his wife, unhearing of the question in Ginny's voice. He was in his favorite armchair–the garishly purple one he'd swiped from Professor Dumbledore's office–staring into the dying embers without really seeing.

He'd lost another friend to the veil.

"Come to bed," Ginny urged, pulling him away from the hearth with little effort.

He was easily led, all fight gone out of him the minute Kingsley declared Hermione gone. It had been a three months since he'd watched Hermione pass through the veil. Two months since Kingsley and the Ministry had officially given up hope on her ever returning. One month since the Wizarding World mourned the loss of the Brightest Witch of the Age at Hogwarts. And Harry couldn't decide if it was easier than when Sirius fell through the veil or worse.

Letting Ginny peel the tattered pink robe–one of Hermione's–off his shoulders and push him down into the bed, Harry stared blankly into the darkness. Ginny tucked him in before crawling into bed herself, wrapping her lithe body around his and pulling his arm around her shoulders.

"She wouldn't want you to give up on life," she soothed.

A choked sound escaped his lips and Harry reflexively pulled Ginny closer. "But how can I live knowing sh–she's…dead."

Hot tears stained his t-shirt and Ginny sniffled. "She's not dead, Harry. She's just gone… she chose to go."

This time Harry didn't try holding back his sobs, letting the sound of his anguish fill the room as tears he thought he didn't have left poured down his face. That was worse, he decided, worse than losing Sirius. Ginny held him closer, rubbing a hand on his chest in soothing circles as he let out the sorrow that he knew would never end. It was so much worse that Hermione had chosen to go. She'd smiled at him, squeezed his hand and then walked into that room never to return again. At least Sirius hadn't wanted to leave. Wouldn't have gone if he could have stopped it.

But nothing would have stopped Hermione. Hell, Harry hadn't even tried. Half of him had hoped that maybe… maybe she would be able to beat death. He'd done it, albeit Harry's were extraordinary circumstances. But Hermione had been an extraordinary witch. Why couldn't she?

"Why didn't she choose to come back?" he asked brokenly.

Ginny stroked his cheek, shaking her head against his chest. "You don't know that, love. Death isn't about our wants or choices. He has time and reason that supersedes our own."

Harry scrubbed the back of his hand under his nose, wiping away the snot and tears that gathered there. Staring into the darkness, he imagined that it was Hermione, not Ginny, snuggled next to him. That they were on the run, hunting horcruxes, and as wrong as the world was everything seemed right because he'd had his best friend by his side.

"But she would have wanted to come back?" he asked. "Would have tried."

Ginny nodded against his chest. "I have no doubt Hermione gave Death hell."


	3. Chapter 3

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 **Chapter 3**

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Hermione nearly laughed out loud as the world around her changed completely. She glanced around at the delicate iron chairs and floral cushions, taking note of the extremely rare plants blooming in the winter sunlight. Beyond the walls of windows, piles of snow laid beneath the white whispers of uncaught flakes swirling in the breeze. Sunlight streamed in through the glass walls and ceiling and Hermione felt herself relax completely. Of all the places she'd thought to find Death, a brightly lit conservatory definitely hadn't been on the list.

"What? I'm not allowed to enjoy colors or light or anything nice?"

Hermione jumped, reflexively reaching for her non-existent wand as she located the source of the surprisingly tenor voice. Her gaze found him lounging on a wicker couch, wearing jeans and a battered Quidditch jersey. Wild black curls practically danced around his face and he returned her gaze with that of a brooding but inquisitive teenage boy. Well this was surprising, she thought.

"I'm not here to tell you what you can or cannot like," Hermione said, trying to keep her tone as light as his had been. "That's what mothers are for."

The boy smiled broadly, his entire demeanor turning into that of a child taking their first trip into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. "It's a good thing I don't have a mother."

"Hmmm."

The boy–Hermione judged him to be perhaps fourteen or fifteen though, of course, he probably was ageless–grinned even more widely at her non-comment and conjured a comfortable wicker chair next to his couch.

"Sit?" he asked.

"I'd prefer not to accept so much as a seat from you," Hermione answered. "I never know what you'll want in return."

One of his eyebrows arched in a way Hermione thought was perfectly Slytherin but he continued to smile disarmingly. "Those tales are old," he said. "I'm not so much a tit-for-tat type of guy anymore. At least, not when it comes to offering a lady a seat."

"Still, I don't plan on staying long. I'm only here to retrieve some friends."

"Well," the boy said, exasperated, "at least come a little closer. There's no reason for me to yell across the room at you."

Hermione obliged him that, noticing the way his eyes flashed at her acquiescence. If she hadn't read so much about Death she'd think this was a perfectly lovely conversation. But she knew more about him than even his mother would have–if he'd had a mother–and she wasn't about to fall into any of his traps.

If she did, she'd never live again.

"You can't possibly know me that well," the boy said. "You're a mortal."

"But for a mortal, you would say I know you the best," Hermione countered.

Cocking his head to the side, the boy's gaze pierced her own and she could feel him rifling around in her brain. In her soul. With a clenched jaw, Hermione endured his perusal of everything that she knew about him and everything she'd never planned on sharing with anyone. For someone who was supposedly immortal, his Legilimency was nowhere near as smooth as Severus' had been.

He pulled away with a laugh. "Perhaps I wanted you to feel me in there."

"Possibly," Hermione smirked. "Or maybe you're not willing to concede that mastering some skills requires other souls to practice with."

"Oh, I'm around plenty of souls." The grin on Death's face turned wolfish and he snapped his fingers.

Suddenly the conservatory windows weren't looking out over fields of snow but fields of souls. Figures. Shades. Gasping in horror, Hermione couldn't help but search the faces pressed hungrily against the glass. If she could just find one of the ones she was searching for. They leered hungrily at her through unseeing eyes, mere echoes of the people they had once been. Less substantial than the Hogwarts ghosts but, somehow, more harrowing than even the Bloody Baron.

But even as she shuddered, Hermione spotted Sirius. She ran to the window, pressing her hand against the glass. His Shade responded, fingers curling as though actually holding her hand.

"Sirius," Hermione whispered, too caught up in having even succeeded in seeing him to recognize the look of horror on his face. "We won! Harry lived!"

Hermione didn't realize until she felt the chill of the scythe against her throat that she'd made a fatal error. Sirius' shade wept as Death pulled her back against a body that was no longer teenaged and dressed in jeans. Black robes enveloped her and she gasped.

Turning her back on Death was a fatal mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

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 **Chapter 4**

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"You can't do that!" Harry yelled.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat before him in dark green robes, a leaf-patterned scarf hanging around his shoulders to match his kufi. Where Harry was flushed and practically steaming from his anger, the Minister was completely relaxed. His fingers zippered together atop his desk as his gaze flicked back and forth, following Harry as he paced a hole in the rug.

"I can't, in good conscience, allow anyone else the opportunity to pass through the veil," Kingsley said. "You of all people should understand that, Harry."

Harry tossed himself into the plump visitors chair, blinking back tears. "B-but you can't just tear it down. What if…"

Kingsley sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "Miss Granger isn't coming back."

"Hermione," Harry spat. "Don't hide behind formalities, Kings. She was your friend too."

"Hermione is gone," Kingsley reiterated, conceding to Harry's point. It didn't make him feel any better to hear it, though. Not when the Minister said it with such finality. "It's been six months and already I've had people asking to go in after her."

"It's _only_ been six months," Harry argued.

The first month they'd held onto hope. The second month they'd given up on her. The third month they said goodbye. The fourth month Harry thought about killing himself just so he could be with Hermione again. The fifth month Ginny told him they were pregnant with a little girl. She wanted to name her Hermione. Now it was the sixth month and Harry was ready to fight.

"We can't give up on her, Kings. She knew what she was doing. She promised she'd be ba–"

"Hermione _never_ promised to come back," Kingsley snapped. Harry glanced up as the Minister rose from his chair and planted his hands on the desk to lean closer to him. "She knew the risks and would never have given us a false promise. She's gone, Harry, and I must do something before we lose someone else."

Harry sensed that Kingsley's mind was made up. And he knew that there was some truth to his words. In the six months Harry had wallowed in Hermione's absence, he'd gone over everything she'd said to him about her plan to pass through the veil. Try as he might, he couldn't find a single thing Hermione said that could even be misconstrued as a promise to return to the land of the living. To him.

He'd only ever imagined she had so it would be easier to let her go.

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying in front of Kingsley, Harry looked down at the rug. It bore an intricate pattern of a dozen colors weaving in and out of one another. When he had control of himself, Harry took a deep breath and looked Kingsley in the eye. He couldn't let the Minister just tear down Hermione's only way back to them. Not when there was even the smallest possibility she might come back.

It was the only hope he had left.

"Give her another six months."

Kingsley pulled off his kufi and ran a hand over his bald head, sinking back into his chair in a posture of defeat much like Harry's own. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes.

"And after six months you'll agree that it's time to tear down the veil?"

Harry opened his mouth to agree but found he couldn't. If she wasn't back in six months he'd ask for more time. They both knew it. Harry wasn't going to give up on Hermione. Not ever.

"After six months," he said, thinking out loud, "I would be willing to try moving the veil and pretending it was torn down."

Kingsley steepled his fingers and shook his head sadly. "Ginevra doesn't deserve to have the boundary of Death living with her in the house."

"No," Harry agreed, though he'd briefly considered trying to hide the veil in Sirius' old rooms. But if she or the baby accidentally–he shook that thought away. He would never lose anyone to the veil again. "I was thinking Spinner's End might be a good place."

For a moment he thought Kingsley was going to concede. But just for a moment.

"I'll give you six months," the Minister said. "And then we'll see where we are."

Harry let his body collapse into the chair cushions and breathed a sigh of relief. If Hermione was going to come back, she'd at least have another six months to do so.

* * *

 _ **Thank you for reading. This short fic will be eleven chapters long and I'll updated with another two-chapter chunk tomorrow.**_

 _ **Blessings.**_


	5. Chapter 5

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 **Chapter 5**

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Hermione figured the blood tickling a path down her neck was a good thing. It meant Death had been able to cut her with his scythe, which meant she was still alive. But as the now not-a-teenager dragged her away from a silently screaming Sirius, Hermione wondered just how long that statement would be true.

Dumb. She'd been so dumb to turn her back on him. But she'd been so excited to see Sirius that she'd forgotten the number one rule of dealing with–

"You planted him there!" Hermione shrieked, digging her feet into the stone floor of the conservatory and refusing to budge as Death pressed his scythe in deeper. Blood poured more freely down her neck but Hermione didn't care. "You saw him in my thoughts and used him to get me to screw up."

Death chuckled, his voice now as baritone and dark as she'd imagined it. "Clever witch. But not clever enough."

Hermione gripped the stone in her pocket, refusing to give in to the constant pressure of metal slicing against her skin. She figured if Death wanted to behead her, he'd do it instead of trying to lead her around with his scythe like a lamb to slaughter.

"Slaughter?" Death responded to her thoughts. "I never said anything about slaughter."

"It's implied." Hermione rubbed the stone in her pocket but kept her thoughts purposefully far from it. If Death wasn't aware she'd brought a bartering chip, he didn't need to be.

Yet.

"Perhaps I just want your company for a while," Death argued, his voice silky and promising. "It gets awfully tiresome being so alone down here."

"But you're not alone, remember? Hermione smirked. At least the immortal was fun to talk to. "You have all those souls to hang out with."

The pressure on her neck dissappated and Hermione ducked away from the scythe. Turning she saw a man where once there had been a boy, though they were clearly one and the same if the dark curls piled in the unworn hood were any indication. But where the teenager had a soft, oval face, this version of Death had a strong jaw and harsh lines where his cheeks should have been. His eyes looked like the reflection of a million souls. But mostly, he looked sad.

"Why did you come here to taunt me?" he asked.

"I didn't. Your teasing brought it out in me," Hermione said. Then almost as an afterthought. "Sorry."

He shrugged, conjured a black throne, and collapsed into it. Here, Hermione could see the similarity to his younger incarnation. A leg tossed over the arm of the throne and his elbow resting on the back of it… she wondered how many version of him she'd see.

"Just these two. You are neither mine to reap nor mine to let go."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at that. "Are you not the ruler of this land? In charge of all who have passed from life to death?"

Death shrugged. "I thought you were the expert."

"The mortal expert. I hardly think that means I know you better than you know yourself."

He conjured another chair, this one directly behind her, and sighed. "Will you please sit? It's off putting speaking to someone who refuses to relax."

"Is that how I made it past the darkness?" Hermione wondered aloud. No use thinking her thoughts if Death was just going to read them.

"No. You have things to live for. People to live for. Your purpose in coming here was not to rest so the darkness didn't suit you."

"Do you know why I'm here?" Hermione asked, sitting down on the very edge of the chair provided. The damned thing scooted forward until she was fully embraced by it.

Death grinned at his little trick and gestured vaguely. "Should I care? Lots of people come here."

"Through the veil?" Hermione asked.

He shrugged again and Hermione had the distinct impression this man was just as boyish as his first incarnation. For a while, the each regarded one another curiously. Hermione figured he was in her head again, proving he could do it without her sensing it. But then again, he'd probably been in there this whole time. He'd certainly been able to respond to her every thought at will.

"I intend to return through the veil, you know," Hermione said conversationally.

Death nodded. "I'm not sure I'll let you."

For the first time since entering this new world, Hermione smiled brightly, genuinely. Leaning against the arm of the chair in a way that mimicked Death's casualness, she responded. "You're not sure you'll keep me, either."


	6. Chapter 6

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 **Chapter 6**

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Nine months. Despite the crushing pain of Ginny's death-grip on his own hand, despite the throbbing of his eardrums at her wailing, Harry couldn't help but know exactly how much time had passed. Nine months since Hermione strolled through the veil. Six months since they'd held a funeral with no body. Three months since Kingsley agreed to keep the veil up. And now he was going to be a father. Without Hermione.

As Molly stroked Ginny's brow with a cool cloth, Harry held her hand and tried not to think about how much easier this would be if Hermione was here. She'd know what to say to Ginny. She'd know what Ginny needed Harry to say. And she'd whisper it in his ear all while pretending that she wasn't orchestrating every perfect moment of their daughter's birth.

Without her, Harry was lost. He knew he needed to be there for Ginny, to soothe her and coach her. But he couldn't remember anything they'd learned in the past four months of muggle and magical birthing classes. His mind seemed like a time turner, every thought slipping away leaving only the memory of her leaving them.

"She's coming," Molly murmured. "Your daughter is coming."

Harry nodded and turned to stare down at his wife. His beautiful, vivacious, wonderful wife. Most women wouldn't understand his discontent. Some women might've been jealous of his preoccupation with another. But not Ginny. She stood beside him, coaxing him away from death and, now, bringing him a new life in which to pour his own. One Hermione had left him, but Harry's witch was going to bring another one into this world. Just for him. Just for them.

"Push," the healers ordered.

The sound of bones cracking was lost under Ginny's grunts and cries of labor. Harry ignored the pain, letting her squeeze and twist his hand however suited her needs. It was the only way he could truly be here for her. He couldn't remember a damned word of encouragement to coax her through bringing a new life into this world.

Harry felt useless.

Whether hours or minutes passed, Harry wasn't certain, but eventually the Healer gave a final shout of encouragement, Ginny gave a final grunt of effort and his child– _his child_ –gave its first ear-splitting wail. The Healers let them look at the babe, wrinkly and waxy as it was, before hauling it off to take measurements. Harry was awestruck.

He smoothed Ginny's effort-drenched hair out of her face, placing a kiss on her bemused face as the Healers helped her through the final aspects of birth. Jaw aching from the first smile he'd worn in nine months, Harry allowed Molly to ruffle his hair, allowed the Healer to place the babe in his arms.

And he looked down at dark brown eyes covered in goop and felt tears creep out of his eyes. "Our daughter is perfect," he said. "Just perfect."

The healer coughed. "Well, uhm, actually Mister Potter."

"Hmmm?" he asked, handing the babe over to its mother as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"We misread the scans. You have a son."

Ginny and Molly gasped, both of them turning to look at Harry with stricken expressions. Harry didn't miss how Ginny clutched their child–their son–a little tighter as his jaw clenched. She'd promised him a daughter. Looking down at the baby boy, Harry briefly wondered how he was supposed to live in a world without either of his Hermiones.

The infant yawned, blinking it's dark brown eyes and stretched a hand out towards him.

Harry smiled.

"We'll just have to name him Albus, then," he said simply.

Ginny sighed and collapsed back against the pillows as she put baby Albus to her breast. Her gaze met Harry's and she smiled gently. "Albus Hermes Potter," she said.

Harry choked back his tears.

Hermione would have been so proud.


	7. Chapter 7

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 **Chapter 7**

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"If you didn't come to stay, why are you here?" Death asked over dinner.

At least, Hermione thought, _his_ dinner. She steadfastly refused to shovel a single morsel of the tantalizing spread set before her into her mouth. Swearing that Death had purposefully placed all her favorite dishes right at her elbows, Hermione kept herself occupied by rolling the stone around in her pocket and periodically rubbing away the blood that continued to seep from the shallow wound in her neck.

"We had a war six years back," she said.

"Yes, that Tom Riddle was always destined to cause trouble."

Hermione pursed her lips at that. Very few mortals dared to call Voldemort by his born name. It seemed too human.

"I'm not a mortal," Death intoned.

"Still," Hermione said. "He wasn't much of one himself by the time we got rid of him."

"Hmmm," Death agreed, gnawing on a turkey leg the size of Crookshanks. "You didn't answer my question."

Hermione sighed. She knew she would eventually have to reveal her reasons for coming here, for knocking on Death's less-than-proverbial door, but for some reason she wanted to evade the question. Closing her eyes, she mentally chastised herself. She was a Gryffindor for goodness sake! Brave, bold, all that shite. Surely she could handle this. After all, if she ever wanted to leave this place, she had no choice but to tell him.

Confidence re-instilled, Hermione opened her eyes to meet the penetrating stare of her dinner companion. "I believe some of those who died during the war did so before their time. I came to retrieve them."

Predictably Death tossed back his head and laughed, his mane of black curls cascading around his shoulders as his merriment boomed around them. Hermione stifled her aggravated response and let the immortal enjoy his humor.

She felt certain it would be the last time he'd laugh in her presence ever again.

He sobered rather quickly at her thought and pierced her with his gaze. "Never say never, Hermione Jean Granger."

"That's what I told Kingsley when I asked for this assignment and said I would come back," she said. "I intend to keep my promise to him."

With a snap of Death's fingers the long dining table disappeared and they were sitting on either side of an ornate, wooden desk. The only adornment was a white feathered quill with a point sharp enough to pierce skin. Hermione tucked her fingers beneath the edge of the desk. She'd be damned if that pen got anywhere near her.

"You're damned anyway," Death said. "No one enters this world and leaves without making a deal."

Arching an eyebrow, Hermione assumed a posture of disinterest. "I thought you said you weren't into the whole tit-for-tat thing anymore."

He shrugged, the teenager in him reflected in his predatory smirk. "I did, but that doesn't mean I don't wheel and deal."

And this was why Hermione had spent a good portion of the last five years around Slytherins. As soon as she'd decided to meet Death, she'd wanted to be as prepared as possible. That meant learning every sneaky trick the snakes could teach her and perfecting them. She smirked. In what most people would consider synonyms, the Slytherins found nuanced and innumerable differences. So, apparently, did Death.

Death chuckled. "You think Slytherins can out-slither me?"

"No," Hermione said. "I think I can."

Expression unreadable, he waved a hand, a blank parchment appearing before them with what looked suspiciously like a Quick Quotes Quill hovering above it. "What will you claim, then?"

Hermione smirked. "The bodies and souls of all those taken before their time immediately preceding and during the war, up to and including the Final Battle at Hogwarts and the twenty-three skirmishes afterwards, granted safe passage to and through the veil through which I arrived, back to the land of the living," she paused, watching the quill take down every detail of her demands and making sure it wasn't taking liberties with her words the way _some_ Quick Quotes Quills were known to.

Death snorted and rolled his eyes. Hermione continued, "I also want my own body and soul, granted safe passage to and through the veil through which I arrived, back to the land of the living. And a promise that you personally will not take myself nor any of those who return with me before our time."

Hermione was wrong; Death did laugh in her presence again. Only this time she wondered if he would ever stop.


	8. Chapter 8

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 **Chapter 8**

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Harry left 12 Grimmauld Place at ten til midnight, not daring to give Kingsley a chance to tear down the veil without at least having a chance to defend it. Pressing a kiss to Ginny's head, he tiptoed to Albus' bedroom to do the same. At the door, Harry paused only long enough to layer extra wards on his home before disapparating to the Ministry.

He found Kingsley in the room where Hermione had refused to say goodbye. A dozen Unspeakables were there with him and Harry's blood boiled.

"You bastard," he accused, pointing his wand at Kingsley.

Thirteen people turned to face him, only half of them drew wands. Kingsley stood in the midst of them, his own wand holstered and hands held open in a placating gesture. Not buying it, Harry took a step closer and curled his lip. Curses flitted across his mind as he wondered just which one he would start with.

"You weren't even going to give me a chance to change your mind," he accused. "You weren't going to give Hermione a chance to come back."

As if on silent order, the Unspeakables holstered their wands and exited the room. Not a single one of them glanced at Kingsley, Harry or the door the Minister stood in front of. The door that led to the veil.

"You're misunderstanding our reason for being here, Harry," Kingsley said.

Harry wanted to be belligerent. He wanted to yell, scream and curse the hat off Kingsley. Instead he took a deep breath and said, semi-rationally, "Then you'd better explain it to me."

Visibly relaxing, Kingsley beckoned Harry closer and withdrew a set of complex blueprints and arithmancy equations. Harry resisted the urge to check and make sure the veil was still where he'd last seen it, instead looking at the bewildering documents in Kingsley's hands. Arithmancy was Hermione's area of expertise. It had always looked like gibberish to him.

"I've been thinking about what you said six months ago, about needing to give Hermione a chance," Kingsley admitted. "But I also have a duty as Minister to protect all of our citizens, not just a single witch."

"She's not just a witch," Harry growled. "She's _the witch._ The one who made my defeat of Voldemort possible."

"I know," Kingsley soothed. He met Harry's gaze and added. "And I don't want to give up on her yet, either."

Thank Merlin, Harry thought, the tension that had been collecting between his shoulder blades ever since Hermione left easing a little. He wasn't sure he could actually take on Kingsley in a man-to-man duel. And Ginny certainly wouldn't appreciate him leaving her alone with a three-month old Albus just so Harry could rot in Azkaban.

Not that anything, not even the wrath of his wife, would have stopped Harry from trying to save the veil. Trying to save Hermione.

"So what's all this, then?" Harry gestured at the papers.

Kingsley grinned. "We've decided to move the veil to Spinner's End. Pretend to have demolished it and throw a final party in Hermione's honor. That should throw the public off the scent. You were right, Harry. Hermione deserves every opportunity to come back to us."

Unsure if he should laugh or cry, Harry settled for thumping Kingsley on the back and staring pointedly at the blueprints. Once he was certain he wouldn't sob like his infant son, Harry thanked Kingsley.

"Can I help?" he asked as the Unspeakables re-entered the room.

"Who do you think we were standing here waiting for?"

Sweeping the blueprints back into his robes, Kingsley pushed open the door to the veil and ushered everyone through. Harry tried not to stare at the neatly folded robes sitting at the base of the dias. He tried to ignore the familiar wand laying on top of them. The only signs that Hermione Granger had ever been in this room.

He tried, but he couldn't. It had been twelve months since Hermione had folded up that cloak and left this life. Seven months since Ginny had given him a reason to live again. Three months since his son proved that life without Hermione could be tolerable. And tonight… tonight he was going to make sure that she always had a way back to him. Just in case.


	9. Chapter 9

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 **Chapter 9**

 **.**

Hermione tried to ignore the Shades hovering at the edge of the light. She tried not to look at their familiar faces, vague eyes focused solely on her. If she allowed herself to focus on them for any longer than a second, she feared Death would have her in his grasp again and never let go.

He had summoned them as soon as he stopped laughing. There were a half dozen or so, she thought, maybe more. She'd only recognized Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Snape, Lavender, Crabbe and Fred. Perhaps the others were muggles.

"No muggles," Death said. "They are not mine to give."

"Just the seven then?" Hermione noticed Death's quick smirk and added, "And myself?"

He shrugged. "There are more. But they would have perished in the time you've been here so it's a moot point."

Hermione had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach from that statement but she refused to dwell on it. "You'll allow us to return to life fully, to our bodies, with our souls, fully intact and without lasting damage?"

"Were you a solicitor in your spare time?" Death asked.

Hermione chuckled darkly. "In my next life, maybe."

His humor was finally spent, however. "Do you understand what you're asking?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. It started with Sirius' fall through the veil in her Fifth year and had become an obsession when she read about the Hallows–the tale of the three brothers who tried to trick Death. Since then, Hermione had studied everything muggle and magical there was on the enigmatic immortal. She understood better than any mortal, and possible most immortals, exactly what she was asking.

A muscle in Death's jaw twitched. "And what are you prepared to give to me in exchange for eight restored souls, bodies and lives?"

Hermione rolled the stone around in her pocket once before letting go of it, reaching instead for an old beaded bag that had been shrunk to fit and withdrew it. The magic unwound from her bag and it returned to its original size. Feeling Death's eyes boring into her, Hermione took her time rifling through the contents before withdrawing a shimmering cloak from its depths. Even without looking at him, Hermione knew Death was surprised. Merlin, even the Shades gasped upon her revelation.

"Should you allow my request, in full, I will return to you this cloak. So that no one else may ever hide from you."

"I could simply take it from you."

Hermione tilted her head and buried the fear that his statement caused deep, deep down in her psyche. Technically Death didn't have to wheel and deal with her at all. He could have simply chopped her head off and been done with it.

But he hadn't. It would have been unfair. And in everything Hermione had seen and read about him, Death was never anything but fair. Tricky, yes. Deceptive, it almost went without saying. But never unfair. If one knew exactly what to ask for and how, they could easily hold their own against him.

She wiped the blood from her neck again, wondering if it was the place that prevented her from healing or the weapon. It was a stall tactic. Anything to avoid Death's stare. His gaze burned Hermione with its intensity and she worried her lip between her teeth. Her only sources had been mortal in origin. There was always the chance she was wrong.

"You're not," he said quietly. Too quietly.

"I'm glad," Hermione admitted. "I would hate to think you've shown me a false self all this time."

Instead of smiling as she expected, he stroked his chin and dropped his gaze to the garment he'd created. Hermione still held it in one hand, loath to let it go until the deal was done.

"Why return it?"

"When I was a child there was a boy in school who went to a beach and found a beautiful egg. He decided to keep it and brought it in for show-and-tell. The teacher told us it was a turtle egg. Years later, reading through some books in the Hogwarts library I came across a picture of the egg. Do you know what I found out?"

Death dipped his chin. He did. Hermione continued, however, needing to say the words. "The boy in my class had accidentally stumbled across a dragon egg. An egg that would have given life to a Salucian Water Dragon had he not picked it up and taken it home. Ten years later, the last Salucian Water Dragons were poached, making their entire species extinct.

"The ramifications of those acts meant that when Professor Severus Snape discovered a potion to remove the taint of the Dark Mark, he was unable to successfully brew it. The missing ingredient was the shell of a newly hatched Salucian Water Dragon. If he had been able to brew it, Tom Riddle would not have returned to an army of waiting Death Eaters. Many of the losses we suffered could have been prevented. And perhaps more than just these seven–"

"Eight," Death reminded her.

"Eight," she agreed, hiding her smile. "Could have been saved."

"And my cloak?" Death asked.

"In some ways your cloak made all the difference in the war. We would have lost long before the final battle if Harry hadn't had it." Hermione met Death's gaze full on, took a deep breath and continued, "But in other ways this cloak and your Hallows were the reason the war started. I think, perhaps, it is time we wizards stop trying to hide from you."

Death abruptly stood, the desk and chairs evaporating into nothingness as he reached for Hermione, his hand clasping her wrist as he dragged her away. "Come, we must go."

* * *

 _ **I decided to post three chapters tonight since there are an uneven number of chapters in this fic. Tomorrow I will post the final two chapters. There is another, possibly longer sequel in the works with an undetermined publish date.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading. Blessings.**_


	10. Chapter 10

**.**

 **Chapter 10**

 **.**

Harry collected Hermione's robes and pocketed her wand, not daring to do anything more with it as the Unspeakables and Kingsley surrounded the veil. As each witch and wizard in the room began drawing glowing blue runes in the air with their wands, Harry stepped into the circle and watched the magic work. It was beautiful, intricate and Harry could hardly believe Kingsley had spent the last six months working on a plan– _his_ plan–to keep Hermione's connection to the land of the living alive. He was in awe of the spell and the Minister.

He was also deathly afraid that something might go wrong. Kingsley had explained that even with all their calculations, all their careful considerations and practice runs, there was nothing that could simulate actually moving the passage between life and death. It was a trial by fire sort of spell.

Praying to any immortal who would listen, Harry begged for it to work. Just because he now thought he might be capable of living without Hermione did not mean he wanted to. Albus and Ginny were enough but Harry wasn't afraid to be selfish. Hermione was family too.

Kingsley had just begun the chant when Harry saw movement beyond the veil. He held his breath, scarcely believing what he was seeing. Hallucinations? A dream? Unaware of what he was doing, Harry mounted the steps to the dais, dropping Hermione's robes as he saw of flicker of something–no, someone–just beyond the veil.

"Wait!" he yelled. "Stop."

"Harry," Kingsley terminated the spell with a flick of his wand, the runes dissipating from the air like blue smoke. "What on earth are you doing? Get away from there!"

But Harry couldn't. He was drawn to the fluttering fabric of the veil, invested in what lingered just beyond. As Kingsley screamed at him to step away, Harry moved closer, his fingers reaching for the veil. Ignorant of a dozen Unspeakables racing up the stairs for him, Harry leaned forward as a face seemed to press against the fabric, threatening to break through.

"Hermione?" he whispered.

And then he was grabbed by two pairs of hands. One set clinging to the front of his jacket as the other snagged his collar and sleeve and yanked him away. Harry yelled as he fell backwards.

Kingsley landed on the ground beneath the dais, cracking his head on the stone with a sickening thud. Harry landed beside him, the air rushing out of his lungs as another figure, hands wrapped securely around his lapel, landed on top of him. Gasping, Harry tried to figure out why Hermione's hair was so dark and her eyes so grey and her face covered in a long, scraggly beard…

"Sirius!"

"Ha–Harry?"

Godson hugged Godfather and Harry thought that everything just might be right again in the world. If Sirius could make it back, surely Hermione… his godfather interrupted that train of thought by standing and pulling Harry up with him.

"There's more," Sirius said and pointed at the already billowing veil. The Unspeakables were eyeing it cautiously, their wands held loosely in their hands as two grey figures pushed through the veil and materialized.

"Tonks! Lupin!"

The werewolf and his wife grinned at Harry, quickly dismounting the dais and standing beside him as the veil continued to move. Unconscious of the tears streaming down his face, and the faces of those around him, Harry stood transfixed as Fred, Lavender and Vincent Crabbe stepped out from the veil, their corporeal forms shimmering before becoming solid. With every person who arrived, Harry's heart soared and dipped. It was another soul saved.

But it was another soul who wasn't Hermione.

As the veil fluttered one last time, Harry held his breath. Sirius and Lupin each clapped a hand on his shoulder and they watched as slowly, surely, the erect form of Severus Snape slipped through the veil, lip curled and eyes as black as they had always been.

"But…" Harry couldn't hardly breathe. Where was she? Where in the bloody hell was Hermione?

"She made a deal," Sirius said, squeezing Harry's shoulder again.

Lip trembling, Harry's gaze flicked between Snape–the man whose role in the war probably saved them all–and Sirius. As his throat worked to create a sound, sob or word he wasn't certain, Harry tried to understand what had happened.

"B-but..." he stuttered.

Snape's gaze slid past Harry to the prone form on the floor beside him. "What happened to Shacklebolt?"

Every eye in the room turned to look at the prone form of the Minister of Magic, eyes closed as blood pooled around his head.


	11. Chapter 11

**.**

 **Chapter 11**

 **.**

Hermione watched Severus step through the veil, wondering at how the passage between life and death could look exactly the same and completely different from this side. As soon as her former Potions Master crossed the boundary, Hermione turned to face Death, who was back in his teenage form.

"Thank you," she said honestly.

"For what?"

Hermione nibbled her lip. For getting them back before the veil disappeared... For keeping his end of the bargain... She held the Invisibility Cloak out to him.

"For everything."

Death shrugged, his curls bouncing energetically with the action. He smirked as Hermione clung to the cloak for one half-second extra but neither of them mentioned it.

"Which team do you root for?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the quidditch jersey.

"The winning one," Death smirked. "You?"

"None of them," she sighed.

With nothing left to say, Hermione turned toward the veil. In some ways she wasn't ready to leave. Her entire life after the war had been dedicated to passing through the veil and making a deal with Death. Now that she'd done that, what was left? Despite her hesitation she also couldn't wait to go back home. She had told Harry and Kingsley she intended to return. It would be very un-Hermione-like if she didn't prove that this, too, could be done. Taking a step toward the veil, she the fabric ripple against her skin and prepared to step through.

The scythe on her throat was expected–he had told her it wasn't up to him to let her go. The dark murmur in her ear was definitely unexpected, though.

"I have one more deal for you, Hermione Jean Granger."

Stepping away from the veil, her heart sinking, Hermione turned around to face Death. The scythe rested on her shoulder, cradling the back of her neck like an old friend. Or a lover. Hermione shuddered at both images as she looked up at the now hooded figure. Well, it would be enough that she'd sent Sirius back. Harry could live without her if he had his Godfather.

Death chuckled dryly and she imagined him rolling his eyes at her. "Do not fear, we dealt for your body, soul and life and I will not renege on that promise to you. I believe you have something else of mine."

Hermione nodded and reached into her pocket to withdraw the Resurrection Stone. "I was going to leave it for you."

"I know," Death said, tilting his head as though he couldn't quite understand her. "But that wouldn't be fair."

"What will I claim, then?" she asked, mimicking his earlier words to her. Only she maintained a much lighter tone.

Hesitation flickered across Death's face before he closed his eyes. "There has been another soul taken before its time. You should have him."

"Oh," Hermione blinked, wondering just who Death could be speaking about. Understanding her question before she could voice it, he snapped his fingers and the Shade of Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared beside him.

Before she could contemplate just how the Minister managed to die in the day since she'd left him, Death pressed the deal. "Do you accept?"

"Unreservedly." Hermione flipped the Resurrection stone to him and pushed the very confused Shade forward through the veil. As Kingsley disappeared from view, Hermione extended her empty hand to Death.

"I'll see you soon."

He laughed, morphing into the teenager in ratty jeans and a bright orange jersey as he shook her hand. Hermione wondered if she ought to bet on the Cannons when she got back to life and Death winked at her.

"Just don't get addicted," he said. "And don't try to get back too soon."

She nodded. Of course she wouldn't. She wiped her hands hands on her jeans. "I'd have brought the wand but Harry sort of… snapped it and tossed it away. I couldn't even find the pieces."

Withdrawing a shapely wand from his pocket, Death twirled it expertly. "It already made its way back."

"Well," Hermione said, unsure of just how one said goodbye to Death. "I guess I'll be going then."

Death nodded and released her hand. "You want to know how Harry survived?"

"Love?" Hermione guessed. Hadn't that been what Dumbledore had always said?

Death nodded. "It's your love that brought those Shades back to life. Not your wheeling and dealing."

Stepping back into the veil, Hermione grinned. "But the bartering didn't hurt, did it?"

As Death disappeared from view, she heard him laugh again. Fabric whispered around her but all Hermione heard was the promise of her return, when she would greet Death like an old friend after a long, loving life. She fell backwards, surprised at how heavy her suddenly corporeal form was, and landed straight into the arms of one of her favorite wizards.

"Welcome home, Hermione," Harry said, the smile splitting face as large as she'd ever seen it.

She answered with one of her own, cupping his cheek in her hand as he set her down on her feet. "It's great to be home. What did I miss?"

 **.**

 _ **The End**_

 **.**

* * *

 _ **Well, that's it folks. Thank you for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing this story. I hesitate to promise a sequel since I have other plot bunnies to chase but you should know that there is an idea for a sequel that's haunting me. Death has grown on me and I'm hesitant to let him go. Plus there's a whole slew of wizards who need to relearn how to live... something tells me Hermione might help them out with that.**_

 ** _Thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed._**

 ** _Blessings._**


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